


The Lap Demon

by Sodium_Azide



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Ducks, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23749669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: "Aziraphale turned slightly, being absurdly careful to not disturb his lap-duck, and beamed at him. Crowley would very much have liked to be a little more snake-shaped, because his knees were disobeying his admittedly very loose requirements for conveying him about. It was entirely possible that he was about to fold up and collapse on the grass like a dropped accordion, although he dearly hoped that he would not make a similar noise."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 171





	The Lap Demon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineffablefool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/gifts).



Making people like him had been one of Crowley’s core skills for as long as there had been people. 

This was something he was extremely proud of, given that literally everything about him was nightmarish, but dressed up nicely and spit-polished to an enticing gleam. Being attractive to the largest possible percentage of the human population was actually his damned job, and he had an uninterrupted streak of being better than Hell at it. Crowley was suave, charming, and just flirtatious enough to give the impression that everything his target desired was on the other side of his smile. 

Crowley, The Serpent, The Tempter, The Architect of Original Sin, was also bitterly aware that all of his skills were nothing compared to Aziraphale’s unstudied sweet smiles, to instantly endear the entire audience lucky enough to behold them.

And Aziraphale had never actually admitted to liking him, either. It was enough to make him doubt his entire existence, and it hadn’t gone well the last time he did that. Sure, they both knew that all of his past denials of their friendship were necessary at the time and meant nothing and of course they liked each other. Still, professional pride was at stake.

And since he was quite certain that he was about to discorporate out of sheer self-preservation against the vision before him, he would have liked to have had his skills acknowledged by their usurper. 

He always knew the ducks would be the end of him.

Aziraphale was sitting on their bench, as he should be. He was also surrounded by a small puddle of what looked like bath toys from a distance, but were actually the bright yellow progeny of an exhausted-looking mallard who was having a snooze directly in the angel’s wide lap. 

A dozen adorable fuzzy ducklings, making tiny peeping noises up towards the angel. It was too cute for anyone to look at directly and survive the experience. 

Aziraphale turned slightly, being absurdly careful to not disturb his lap-duck, and beamed at him. Crowley would very much have liked to be a little more snake-shaped, because his knees were disobeying his admittedly very loose requirements for conveying him about. It was entirely possible that he was about to fold up and collapse on the grass like a dropped accordion, although he dearly hoped that he would not make a similar noise. 

Although, judging from the angel’s confused expression, he wasn’t making any noise at all. One particularly bright duckling apparently decided that angelic shoelaces were the future, and promptly inspired all of their siblings to investigate. The ensuing fluffy battle distracted everyone from Crowley’s lack of functionality. The drowsy mother duck quacked morosely, and with a little wiggle of her tail feathers, hopped down from her heavenly perch to lead her brood in an erratic line back towards the water, as Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle of his own and waved goodbye. 

“Isn’t it lovely, dear? Her first nest, and nine of them! She has the biggest family in the park this year. Next time we come, we should bring something extra for them. Don’t you agree, dear?” 

Crowley nodded mutely as the angel stood and went through his little ritual of straightening his outfit, as if his clothing would ever dare to be mussed. 

“Her mate is such a cad, though. I mean, forgive my language, but her drake is somehow always distracted by some errand as soon as the ducklings get rambunctious. It’s not as if ducks have a schedule.”

Crowley must have made a suitable noise in response, and was rewarded by the angel tucking his arm into his elbow, all of his warmth and softness right there to be enjoyed by a very appreciative demon. 

“I was so pleased to be asked to watch them for her while she had a nap. Caring for the children of any species is always such a gift, and they were so very well-behaved. Well, at least until the end there, but they’re very young, I think it’s charming when they’re so curious about the world…”

Aziraphale carried the conversation, such as it was, most of the way to the restaurant for their planned lunch, but Crowley’s luck only lasted so long. “Dear, you had the strangest look on your face at the park, and I think you are still wearing it. Are you all right?” 

“M’fine.”

“No one noticed anything strange, I made sure of it, so there’s no need to worry about any humans saying anything the next time we visit. Is that what you’re fretting about?”

“M’not worried. Or fretting. M’fine. M’comfy. The duck was comfy, and I’m comfy. We’re all comfy, angel.”

“The...duck was comfortable. And you are equally comfortable.”

“Yeah. Well, not equally, ‘cuz I’m not on your lap, but yeah.”

Aziraphale abruptly gripped his arm quite tightly, as Crowley’s knees finished their previous mutinous behavior and he wilted like an underwatered vine in pure mortification. A hurried snap that he barely heard over his embarrassed heartbeat ransacking the inside of his chest, and he landed on the welcoming softness of the bookshop’s sofa with his head in the angel’s lap.

“Is this what you meant, dearest?”

Crowley whined helplessly and scrunched his eyes as tightly as possible before giving the smallest nod. The angel’s hands, perfectly manicured, perfectly soft, further devastated him by gently removing his glasses, then sifting through his hair. 

“Crowley. You can ask now for what you want. We’re safe, yes? I will give you anything you wish, dearest.” 

“Mdhoeiruurggh.”

“I mean it, dear. Whenever you wish. Although you are going to treat me to an excellent supper to make up for missing lunch.”

Feeling brave, and aware that having his hair played with would soon render him as limp as cooked pasta, Crowley turned on his side to tuck his face into the softness of his angel’s belly. “I want you to tell me you like me.” he mumbled.

“Did...you not know? Dearest, you are more precious to me than anything else on Earth. You aren’t still holding that against me, are you? I was lying, and lying most dreadfully, anytime I said otherwise, and I’m sorry, for that and anything I ever said to hurt you. You know that, dear, yes? My sweet serpent, you must know.”

Crowley managed another nod, melting deeper into the cushions in a way not typically possible for vertebrates. He mumbled again, his face safely tucked into Aziraphale’s waistcoat, which would not judge him, even as his angel began to giggle mercilessly. “I will ask her, dear. I am quite sure that she will consent to you petting one of her ducklings.”


End file.
